


Scout's Honor

by areyouserial



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: You suppress something long enough and it either dims to nothing, or boils over and becomes dangerous. And considering he just slid his hand beneath the front of my underwear, I’d say we’re in trouble.





	

Our rhythmic breathing, his, then mine fills the room and it’s all I hear. That, and the speck of doubt that still lingers in my head whispering what a bad idea this is. _You’re a flimsy wisp of fabric away from being naked with your co-worker, you will regret this._ But that feeble attempt at common sense gets so easily lost in the desperate fog of want and frustration. This dangerous cocktail of curiosity, competition, wanting to shut him up, wanting his hands all over has had me tipsy for too long.

His hot mouth on my waist sends this ripple through me. I feel myself tilt into him as he hooks fingertips into the edge of my underwear along the ridge of my hips.

Sense grips me for just a moment, long enough for me to dig fingers into his hair and I yank there roughly. “Hey--”

Jamie’s head arches back with a jerk and he lets out this gravelly moan through parted wet lips. He focuses on me through half-lidded eyes in the dim glow of his bedroom and it's fucking sexy, I can feel the smirk curving across my face. I could get used to seeing him from this angle.

“What?” He exhales.

 Maintaining my hold on his hair with one hand, I scoot up to prop myself on the other elbow. “Are you sure about this?”

 He looks around like he’s trying to orient himself and his chest heaves with deep breaths. He finally looks up at me, confusion drawn across his forehead. “What are we supposed to be sure about?”

I make a face and feel my brow crease with worry as I let go of his hair. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

His head drops and he hangs it there, skimming my stomach. The muscles in the valley of his upper back, between his shoulderblades, arch and flex when he does.

He breathes out a soft laugh, then eventually raises his head to peer up at me. “Eddie, say the word and we’ll stop.”

He laughs because this is a conversation we’ve gone in circles over the past few days when undeniably flirtatious text messages one night turned into an all-out, cards-on-the-table face-to-face breakdown of how detrimental would it _really_ be if we just hooked up when the mood struck, with no definite strings? It’s funny how easily we could convince ourselves that we’re rational, level-headed friends and colleagues and that this mutual need to fuck each other is interfering with our working relationship. And keeping those floodgates closed is screwing up our judgment.

Right. That sounded good. Especially after margaritas on our night off, that voice of his, the way he looks at me, the pulsing memory of our kiss months ago. It’s driving me crazy that that memory refuses to fade. It just throbs inside of me and spreads the more we try to figure out how to move past it.

“I didn’t say I wanted to stop,”I tell him.

He lifts up and adjusts over top of me, planting his hands on either side of my shoulders as he scoots up further. “Do you always pull a guy’s hair that hard when you want him to keep going then?” He asks. “Because I’m alright with that.”

Arching one eyebrow, my gaze glitters back at him. “Oh really? And here I thought you’d fuck like an Eagle Scout.” A beat after I say it, my brow furrows and Jamie mirrors the look, retracting his head in hesitation.

I feel the regretful grimace on my face. “That came out weird.”

A rumble of laughter rolls in his throat, then sputters out of him as he lowers his weight on top of me. “How many teenage boys have you had sex with?”

“Shut UP, Reagan!” I slap my palms on his shoulders to nudge him away. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“That kinda stuff is frowned upon in the eyes of the law--”

“Fuck off!”

He chuckles again and twists to avert the smack of my palm on his arm.

“Alright,” I announce, crossing one hand over the other in a time-out gesture. Then I rake fingers through my mess of hair, tilting my head back for a gasp of fresh air while I sit up. We had been tangled up in one another in this bedroom for so long that without his breath on my skin, this chill blooms in its absence. “That’s enough of that,” I tell him.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” My name rattles from him quickly as he hooks an arm around my waist and buries his face in the crook of my neck. I can feel his smile there. “I’m just messing with you.”

I mumble this non-descript groaning sound as I scoot up and attempt to find my bra. I spot it behind me, half-stuffed beneath the pillow and hastily drape it over myself. “Nope, nope, no -- I can’t after that.”

He’s still laughing as he eases back and lets me lean up to hook the straps behind my back. He crushes his face against his palm, rubbing there as if he’s trying to wipe away a steamy fog and find some clarity.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Hey, don’t apologize if that’s what you’re into--”

“I will smack that face of yours.”

“I might still have my uniform.” He points a thumb over his shoulder toward his closet. “If you want me to--”

I jab a fist against his shoulder, push myself to my knees to gain some leverage over him. He sways with a playful chuckle at my advances, attempting to grasp my arms as I aim futile blows at his chest.

My knees dip into the mattress and I settle one leg on the other side of his lap to straddle him there. I swat at him once more but he halts my attack when he’s finally successful at closing his grip around my wrists.

“Wait,” I smile. “You really were an Eagle Scout?”

He shrugs. “Of course I was.”

"Ugh!” I tip my head back. “Everyday you chip away at my attempts to find some quality about you that resembles my type.”

“What -- handsome with a heart of gold doesn’t do it for you?”

“Oh, please!” I teasingly wail up at the ceiling.

He keeps his firm hold on my wrists as I rock side to side on my knees over him to maintain my balance.

“With excellent knot tying skills,” he continues, that damn grin on his face.

“Mm,” I hum, humoring him with an arched eyebrow. “Basketweaving skills?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs.

“Sexy.”

“Youngest in Bay Ridge history to earn the traffic safety badge.”

I crumple into him in a fit of giggles, groaning “oh my god” against his neck. “Are you trying to get me to put _more_ clothes on?”

“Please don’t,” I can hear the smile in his voice. “And it has been well-established that neither one of us is the other’s type.”

“And yet, here we are,” I reason.

“But…” And then he lets go of my wrists to slip fingers between mine. His touch feels so good on me, so effortless. Smooth to the point of almost being polite, though, and it drags me to this frustrated precipice and makes me do stupid shit like barge into his apartment and makeout with him. Or yank his hair when his head’s moments from finding its way between my legs. It’s as if his thoughtful pause gives me too much time to second guess everything.

He finishes, “I think types are overrated anyway.”

My lips twist as I consider it. “I’m learning this,” I tell him, spreading my fingers, I slide them through his, then drag them down his open palm.

“And it's about…” He glances down, his gaze following the path of my fingertips, then lifts his lashes, seeming to take this slow, purposeful assessment of me, like he's learning places on my body he's never noticed before. “The connection, more than anything else.”

“Connection,” I echo with a nod.

“I think--” he starts.

“You think too much.”

“I just--” he laughs softly, but keeps talking. “Convinced myself that you weren’t my type.”

“Uh-huh,” I breathe and close my hands this time around his wrists instead. When I do, I tilt down on his lap where I tease him with an achingly slow rock of my hips. When I press against him, it’s like I can see his seamless thoughts, that clarity he maintains that he’s always so damn proud of start to jumble up in his mind, to get lost. He focuses on me, cloudy green eyes, and I know that look, the one that’s followed by the clench of his throat and a nervous swallow.

“So that I wouldn’t--” he barely manages the words, they just kind of escape him in a sigh. While he talks, my gaze lowers to his mouth and I can feel his voice throb inside of me, it buzzes in my heated core, growls there and makes me ache for him. My hips dip once more and I don’t miss the rigid reaction from him that nudges my inner thigh.

He manages a ragged inhale and still tries his damnedest to finish his thought. Instead, a breathy groan just sort of rumbles in his chest and he eases forward, attempting to capture my mouth with his own. He grazes my lips, but I edge back and the corner there quirks up in a subtle smirk.

“So that you wouldn’t what?” I wonder. With complete intent, I rock against him again, my movements now finding a languid pace that would be torturous if it didn't feel so good.

His words rush out of him in a hot exhale. “Fuck, I don’t know.” And then he breaks from my grasp, and winds strong arms around my waist, tugging me closer and I can’t help the surprised whimper that squeaks out of me at the friction of his hard-on between my thighs through his boxers.

In a swift motion, he shifts his weight, steals the leverage I have over him, and before I know it, swoops me onto my back and follows quickly on top of me. I sigh a startled breath when my back presses into the soft down comforter.

“I don’t think I’ve I ever heard you say ‘I don’t know’,” I tease him, savoring the feeling of his solid frame pressing into me. “I thought you knew everything.”

His mouth anchors him to my chest and he leaves a breathy, biting kiss there that renders my eyes fluttering shut. It travels to the curve of my neck and he sighs his words on my skin. “You said I think too much anyway, so fuck it.”

A low laugh rattles from me and I drag fingertips up the plain of his back, strong and taut, and into his hair. “Yes, you do.”

“Yeah, well you talk too much.”

I squeeze fingers in his hair once again, gently closing my fist there and it prompts a gravelly moan from him that I want to hear a hundred times. “So shut me up then,” I tell him.

And then his mouth falls on mine, crushing needy lips, all hot breath, hesitations abandoned. It’s so fucking sexy and my body craves him, wants so badly for him to relinquish that measured pace, where he holds tight to that control. I don't think he’d ever willingly let go of it. He walks such a straight line and it thrills me to lure him off of it because once he slips, he crashes hard. You suppress something long enough and it either dims to nothing, or boils over and becomes dangerous. And considering he just slid his hand beneath the front of my underwear, I’d say we’re in trouble.

My knees raise and I angle against his hand, breaking off his kiss to tilt my head back and exhale a shameless sigh up toward the ceiling. The pressure of his fingers sends this tightly coiled heat deep in my abdomen. He strokes me, and I can tell how wet I am when he does it once more, then dips one finger inside of me. The sensation alone makes my thighs twitch, makes me needy for more of him.

His touch dips there again, circling a slick path around my clit that sends sparks popping where my desire for him had been simmering all night.

A groan echoes in his throat as he withdraws his fingers and eagerly grasps for the edge of my panties. I help him, lifting my hips as he slides them down my legs, then repositions himself lower.

I arch back, tipping my face toward the ceiling. “Oh god,” I mutter and it’s like this combination of desperation, wanting it so bad, and slight apprehension because I mean, _fuck_. Jamie Reagan’s about to destroy me and he knows it.

I press one palm against my forehead and suck in a gasp of air when he nudges my leg out farther with his shoulder, leans in, and flicks a teasing stroke with his tongue, tasting me. My hips jerk in response to the flare I feel zip through me -- all from hardly anything. I know my ragged sigh is mostly one of anticipation. This was the polite touch again that drives me to take over, but I tell myself not to. I want to just melt into him, into the heated stroke of his tongue as it continues its slow path.

A lazy, breathy moan escapes me when I feel him part slick folds with a finger and _oh my god_ , I want to come so bad, my body is throbbing for it everywhere. _Fuck_.

I start to ease myself into a sitting position, propping up on one hand behind me. “Jamie--”

With his free hand, he reaches up, skims his palm along my side before he plants it there at my ribcage and shoves me back down.

A delighted little squeak sneaks out of me as I drop to my back once more and when I do, he buries his head further, and covers me with the heat of his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” I moan. My back arches, bringing my knees up and I rock against him, my hand finding his head.

He eases a finger inside me, followed by another while the ridge of his tongue pulses there on my clit and that’s when that tightly wound coil starts to unravel. I can’t stop the string of shuddering groans that quake through me. It’s like I’m on another plane, fixed inside the dreamy, languid rhythm of my undoing.

The expert caress of his tongue concentrates exactly where it’s supposed to and I roll my hips against him to meet the steady pace he’s set.

“Oh my god,” I moan, for probably the hundredth time. “I hate that you’re so good at this -- fuck!”

I hear the rumble of his soft laugh down between my legs and he moves his head, finding my clit again, prompting a surprised whimper from me when he nibbles and sucks there briefly, so cruel, before sliding those two fingers back inside me.

With an arch of my back, I push against him, then reach out over my head, seeking something else to hold onto, to anchor myself. My fist closes around a pillow and I turn my head there, wailing muffled cries into the soft cotton before I bite down on it.

He coaxes that unraveling with the bend of his fingers, the focused stroke of his tongue… I’m going to fucking black out.

When I come, I go somewhere else entirely. That feeling seems to last forever, like I can’t find the end of my orgasm. I just descend, crying out into some vast swirling infinity. The heat of my rapture races through me, exploding in the darkness behind my eyes, clenching deep in my core and then bursting, rendering me completely broken.

My hurried panting finally downshifts to a weary groan as the rush of my heartbeat slows and I tip my head back. He adjusts and pushes back from between my legs.

“My god, Reagan,” I complain, bringing my knees together. I look over at him as he swipes his thumb just beneath his bottom lip and that damn smile flashes at me. It makes me want to smack him for being that sexy.

“Fucker,” I mutter.

That smile breaks into a grin and he tips forward, catching himself overtop of me on his hands.

“Well.” I start to sit up, pushing against him. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

“I regret nothing” he murmurs. “You’re really fucking sexy.”

My mouth falls on his and I savor the still moment between us, the hush of his voice, the memory of me on his lips. But I don’t let it linger long and I pull away, dragging my teeth over my own bottom lip as I glance down to assess him. “Can you… get naked already?”

He laughs and scoots back enough to shed his boxers while I get rid of the one remain article that I was wearing.

“Demanding,” he mutters.

“What’s that?”

“You heard me.”

I can’t take anymore of his perfectly smug face. My hand grasps at the angle of his jaw as I kiss him once more, fingers spreading, they skate across his neck and curl into the short hair at the back of his head. The way he sort of sinks, gives into me lends me this momentum and I use it to push against him, eventually landing him onto his back.

My body’s still buzzing, leftover shaky pleasure pulsing through my legs as I swing one over his hips to straddle him. He lets out this little gravelly hum of satisfaction, his palms glide along my thighs where he tugs me closer.

I lift up, lightly grazing his arousal as I shift my hips. “It’s part of my charm.” I bait him, teasing my lower lip with my teeth from where I sit overtop of him.

I savor the promise of him, the way he gazes up at me in the dark, shadows and city lights cast across his bed. They shine in his green eyes, heat up the angles of his face, strong and fascinating. All of my threats and complaints about it are lies. I love looking at it.

He manages a hard swallow and I have to smirk at his impatience as he pulls me against him once again seeking out that friction. “I’m not complaining,” he says.

I arch, ease my hips back and come down on top of him. It feels so damn good to press against him, the warmth of his chest against the sensitive peak of my nipples. When I do, he tilts his head, his throat bobbing with another swallow and I rock against him. “I think you like it.” My lips brush a featherlight stroke along his jawline.

“I like you,” he murmurs and his touch skims the dip in my low back. “That’s all I know right now.”

His simple confession sends my heart hammering in my chest. Dammit. My voice is a whisper when I tell him, “I like you too.”

One of his eyebrows jumps when I say it and he tilts his head as if concerned. “Uh-oh,” he mutters.

“Yeah, uh-oh.” And just before my lips land on his, the corner there quirks in a tiny smile.

I reach back and enjoy the restrained groan that rumbles from him when I close my hand around his straining hard-on. I shift, lift my hips as I position him at my waiting heat before I slowly sink down on him.

We mumble our mutual pleasure against each others’ mouths, into the heat of our breaths. He holds me to him, my body trembles already at the way he fills me, the way the connection starts there but continues, winding around our pulse, tugging my hips flush against his.

His mouth sears mine. The feeling is pure, hot bliss that goes to my head, seeps inside of me until I’m in this intoxicating fog I want to stay in forever.

I initiate a dreamy downbeat between us, taking in the perfect length of him, easing hips back, guiding him to meet me when I do. Like so many other things we do, we easily fall into this sublime rhythm, intuitive to each others’ movements.

I grind my hips and he grasps a hand behind one bent knee, hitching mine up at his side, sinking deeper and I arch my head back with a desperate exhale.

Pushing one arm straight, I lift myself up, press the other hand on his firm chest as I ride him.

He swears his appreciation when I do, holds my hips, tilts his chin down and watches the way I move on him. He concentrates on his measured breathing, hot choppy exhales punctuate the roll of his solid form beneath me until he dips his head back, pressing it there into his pillow, tilting his face toward the ceiling.

“Eddie -- wai-wai-wait,” he hisses. “Shit, I forgot,”.

Confusion dips my brow and my movements slow. But before I can threaten to kill him, he quickly lifts me off of him and stretches over to his nightstand.

“I need a condom,” he explains breathlessly and considering the nature of this agreement, that’s probably for the best.

I shove hair back out of my face and exhale my amusement. “Safe sex merit badge?”

He chuckles as he looks down and focuses on pulling the Trojan from the wrapper, then situates it on himself. He finishes, then glances up, lifting three fingers pressed tightly together. “On my honor.”

“Get out of here.” I bite back a grin, then snatch those fingers of his, squeezing them in my hand while he laughs at me. “I’ll show you where you can put these.”

He tips back as we reorient ourselves across the bed, resuming our position.

We easily find where we left off as I pounce on top of him and he playfully tugs on my hips, helping himself to a handful of my ass.

A throaty moan bursts out of me when he sinks inside of me once again and before I can truly revel in the feeling, to find that heavenly pace again, Jamie grasps me with an urgency that wasn’t there before and thrusts himself deeper.

I call out, gasping an airy cry and tip over, pressing myself against him. I kiss him hard because if I don’t, I’ll be so loud. I nearly bruise his lips with my own but he reciprocates, his needy breaths mingle with mine as our bodies ride this crashing wave that’s no longer an easy, slow ripple. I dig fingertips into his hair, hitch my knee up higher at his side and he moans his approval.

I consider tempering this rush, reeling in this need, but it feels too good to urge him deeper, nudging, unrelenting on that white hot center that’s about to spark.

Greedy hands dig into my flesh, hold me against him while he fucks me with a possessive fervor that he buries inside me.

I pull my mouth from his and drop my head to the curve of his neck, exhaling hot panting breaths on his skin. I’m going to come again from the way my clit pulses against the base of his cock with each stroke and I tell him, barely edge out the warning before my teeth bite down on the hard curve of his shoulder.

My second orgasm seizes me from the inside, every muscle in my body and I tense around him. He follows soonafter and for a moment, it feels like this unintended competition of who can come the longest. We keep shuddering against one another and then one more will sneak up on me until I finally unwind, limp against him.

With a heavy heartbeat, I manage to eventually shift on top of him. I leave a soft kiss on his shoulder where I bit him and I feel him return the affection, pressing one into my hair.

My hard exhales lighten to a quiet laugh and I lift my head to meet his gaze as I adjust at his side.

His cheeks puff when he expels a slow, deep breath and he presses palms to his head, raking fingers through his hair. “Well partner--” he starts. “You definitely ruined me with that.”

I groan a weary laugh, hiding my face against his side. He’s not the only one. “I warned you about that.”

“Sit tight,” he tells me as he gets up, scratches the back of his head and makes his way out of bed. He finds his boxers, then disappears behind the bathroom door while I stretch back on the pillow and I manage a cleansing breath.

I’m too light-headed, dizzy with satisfaction to stress over what next. Even though not worrying what next? was part of the deal, between my motor mouth and that analytical Harvard brain of his, inevitably it’s going to come up.

But tonight, it’s just now, it’s just us. It’s selfish disregard for tomorrow.

Soon after, he pulls the bathroom door open and I blink him into focus. He takes a moment to lean against the doorframe, absently trailing his hand up and down his flat stomach.

He fixes this pensive look off to the side, then peers over at me. “I’m hungry.”

Swiftly, I sit up, propping myself on one hand and I glance back over my shoulder in a mock panic as if he’s been replaced by an imposter Jamie. “You? Hungry?  What’s wrong with you?”

“See what you’ve done to me?”

I giggle and run a hand through my hair, looking around, trying to remember where my underwear landed.

“You want a grilled cheese sandwich?” He offers.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and shake my head in amusement. “You know I do.”

With a soft laugh, he scoops up the navy blue t-shirt he had worn tonight off the nearby chair and tosses it to me. “Come on,” he says.

I regard him with a smirk and a skeptical lift of one eyebrow. “I could get used to you in your underwear making me food.”

Resting his hands low on his hips, he smiles at me. “Yeah, I could get used to you naked in my bed.”

I groan and feel a glittery warning in my eyes. “Uh-oh.”

He backs up a step, then passes through his doorway, leaving a boyish smack of his palm on the top of the door frame when he does, calling out, “Yeah. Uh-oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! If you liked it, let me know!
> 
> And add ontherockswithsalt on tumblr for my Jamko stuff. :)


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